


Nightbird 1801

by wheel_pen



Series: Immortals [10]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 17:39:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3455984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A genteel Southern family has a visit from a mysterious, and possibly sinister, figure who claims he is owed a debt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightbird 1801

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. The Immortals are powerful Earth beings who have children with mortals and are supposed to take care of them. The different clans are inspired by various movies and TV shows.  
> 2\. The bad words are censored; that’s just how I do things.  
> 3\. I own nothing, and I appreciate the chance to play in these universes.
> 
> Lio is played by Ralph Fiennes, for visual reference.

_Ravenhurst Plantation, Mississippi Territory, 1801_

 

            The rain lashed fiercely at the windows in the French doors, rattling them in an unnerving way. The chill wind slipped around the loose fittings and cut through the parlor like a blade, flickering the candles as it passed. Elizabeth Corbin stood suddenly, feeling uneasy, and walked closer to the fire blazing in the hearth. Its warmth seemed paltry in the dim room, as if it were unable to push back either the cold or the darkness outside.

            “It’s terribly cold,” Elizabeth remarked pointlessly.

            “Well, it’s January,” her mother replied without interest, continuing to embroider. Her fingers must have been half-frozen and her eyes straining to see the threads; but a lady ought to embroider when she had free time, because idle hands were the Devil’s tools.

            “Get a shawl,” her father advised pragmatically, puffing on his pipe. He certainly wasn’t going to let her put more wood on the fire, not at this late hour.

            Elizabeth shivered without answering. “Perhaps we ought to turn in,” Anne Corbin suggested, for lack of a better idea. “The weather _is_ dreadful tonight.”

            “No,” Elizabeth said suddenly, and her parents stared at her. She turned away from them, feeling foolish. “I’m just not tired yet, that’s all.” She couldn’t possibly admit that she was afraid to go to her room alone. “Hallie,” she called, striding to the door. “Hallie!”

            A dark-skinned young woman opened the door timidly and looked in. “Yes, Miss ‘Lizabeth?”

            “Fetch me a shawl, would you?” Elizabeth told her. “My blue woolen one.”

            “Yes’m,” Hallie replied, bobbing her head and departing.

            A silence descended on the room again. Elizabeth remembered when the house was never silent, when all her brothers and sisters were still there. But they had all grown up and gone off—just like she soon would. And not a moment too soon. Fears had been plaguing her lately, silly things, like the feeling she was being watched or that she wasn’t alone in an empty room. Just worries about her upcoming wedding, her sisters said, and laughed them off. Hallie said it was spirits, dark spirits hovering over the house, and that she felt them too; but Hallie was quite excitable sometimes and liable to get her ears boxed by Mrs. Corbin if she didn’t keep quiet about such things.

            “Here’s your shawl, Miss—“ Hallie began, opening the door from the hall. At the same moment, the French doors burst open with a clatter, the wind and rain blasting into the parlor. The candles guttered and went out. Elizabeth heard someone scream and thought it might have been her.

            “Hallie, close the—“

            “My goodness, the carpet—“

            “Get those candles—“

            “Did any of the glass—“

            Hallie and Ephraim Corbin struggled to shut the French doors again. Fortunately none of the expensive glass panes had broken, but the carpet had been quickly soaked.

            Ephraim lit a candle with a start from the fireplace and Elizabeth screamed again. A man was standing in the far corner of the room, a man who hadn’t been there before. He wore a white suit, fine and well-tailored, and his blue eyes were at once piercing and distant.

            The others were similarly surprised by his appearance. Ephraim’s face went unnaturally pale. “Forgive the intrusion,” the man said in a gentlemanly way, “but the door was open.” He nodded towards the door to the hall.

            Anne recovered herself first, her tone a balance between wariness and hospitality. “I apologize, sir, we didn’t hear your knock,” she told him. “One hardly expects visitors on a night like this.”

            “Happy New Year,” the man wished them suddenly. “It is the start of a new century, after all.”

            “Yes, yes, it is,” Anne agreed, glancing back at her husband to urge him to jump in. “Are you in the area for the festivities?”

            “In a manner of speaking,” the man replied. “I suppose I must introduce myself,” he went on after a moment, “though I think Ephraim remembers who I am.”

            “Ephraim,” Anne prompted through gritted teeth. She wanted to know _who_ this man was and _what_ he was doing in her house at this hour.

            “Well, uh, of course,” Ephraim stammered. “Why, this is just—this is just Mr. Nightbird, my dear,” he explained, trying and failing to seem casual.

            “Nightbird?” Hallie whispered, clutching the shawl she still held tightly.

            “Now, none of your superstitious nonsense,” Ephraim snapped at her, yanking the shawl away. Elizabeth, who couldn’t stop staring at the visitor in something like horror, saw his eyebrow raise in amusement. “Go fix us some tea and be quick about it!” Hallie seemed relieved to leave.

            Ephraim handed Elizabeth her shawl, breaking her from her trance. “Why, I don’t think I’ve heard you mention a Mr. Nightbird,” Anne prodded her husband.

            “Oh, well, he’s just—well, his, er, father was a friend of my father’s,” Ephraim insisted, “over in Charleston.”

            “They came over from the Old World together,” Mr. Nightbird added, far more smoothly. “In fact my father paid for the voyage.”

Elizabeth suddenly noticed that their visitor was not the least bit wet.

            “I see,” Anne replied, though she clearly didn’t. “Won’t you sit down, Mr. Nightbird?”

            “Thank you kindly, ma’am,” he answered, sitting gracefully in a chair closer to the others. They all sat as well, as far from him as possible.

            “And what brings you to Ravenhurst?” Anne asked, giving up on her husband.

            “I am here to collect a debt I am owed,” their visitor replied frankly.

            “Debt? What sort of debt?”

            Mr. Nightbird’s gaze shifted suddenly to Elizabeth—not lecherous, but somehow equally discomforting. It was a gaze of… significance.

            Which Ephraim apparently understood. “Anne, Elizabeth, you should go to bed now,” he insisted, jumping suddenly to his feet.

            “But, Ephraim—“

            “Go on, it’s a terrible night anyway. I’m sure Mr. Nightbird will understand,” he told them, practically dragging them up.

            Mr. Nightbird stood when the ladies did. “Of course,” he replied cordially. “Good evening, ladies. I hope to see you again.” He seemed to direct this specifically at Elizabeth, who did not share her mother’s objection to being driven from the room.

            “Yes, good night, good night,” Ephraim said hurriedly, herding his wife and daughter towards the door. “Let the men talk business, ha ha!” His wife gave him a look that said he _would_ be explaining everything to her satisfaction in the morning. Ephraim shut the door firmly and then turned slowly around to see that their visitor had made himself comfortable again and was watching him with a touch of amusement.

            This seemed to infuriate Ephraim. “How dare you come here!” he hissed, stomping back towards the white-suited man. “This is a Christian household!”

            “I am not the Devil,” Nightbird told him mildly. “But I will be paid my due.”

            “Your _due_?” Ephraim sputtered. He turned away for a moment, trying to think. “I cannot be held responsible for the arrangements of my ancestors—“

            “Your _ancestors_?” Nightbird scoffed. “I have always treated your family well. Including money for yourself, to keep this place”—he indicated the large house and the plantation as a whole—“running when the crop failures destroyed your neighbors.”

            Ephraim blinked at him uneasily. “You said that was a gift.”

            “And so it was,” Nightbird agreed. “And now it is time for you to gift me in return.”

            “Oh, but don’t you see, I can’t,” Ephraim tried. “All my daughters are married now.”

            “Elizabeth?”

            “Engaged to be married,” Ephraim said firmly. “In just a month.”

            “It is not marriage that I want,” Nightbird reminded him. “And there are ways around these complications.”

            “No, no, it’s impossible,” Ephraim stated, as if he hoped he could turn the man away by willpower alone.

            “I don’t think you realize how much you rely upon me for support,” Nightbird countered coolly. “If your family cannot provide me with what I ask I will go elsewhere, and provide _that_ family with my support. I think you will feel the loss keenly.”

            Ephraim sat down, worried that the man was correct. “My brother has a daughter—“ he began, feeling slightly disgusted with himself.

            “Too young,” Nightbird corrected.

            “Well, she’s eleven or something, isn’t she?” Ephraim pointed out. “When do you need her by?”

            “I have in fact already spoken to your brother,” the man informed him, “last night. No doubt you will hear from him soon,” he added wryly. “I am prepared to consider Julia. But I think, when the time comes,” he went on just as Ephraim began to look relieved, “your brother will raise as many objections as you do, no matter what he says right now. At any rate, I wish to renew our relationship _now_.”

            “Well, look, you _can’t_ ,” Ephraim tried again. The opening about Julia had given him some hope. “I mean, what would people _say_? She’s to be married in a month—“

            “Arrangements can be made,” Nightbird assured him, displaying a tiny amount of impatience. “She can raise the child with her husband and no one need know. This child will be an asset to your family,” he went on matter-of-factly. “A child of promise and talent, who will bring distinction to your name.” Ephraim was shaking his head.

            “Well, I can always take the child after it’s born,” Nightbird suggested. “Although I would then have no further reason to support you. Your gifts grow weak, thin, diluted,” he added, suddenly more heated. “It is pitiful to me to see them squandered, knowing the glories they have brought in the past. Your family wished to come to this New World of opportunity and so I brought them, ready to watch the line flourish. Perhaps this climate does not suit you,” he finished, almost with a sneer.

            Ephraim sat quietly, thinking over the man’s words. It was all so—ridiculous, like a child’s fairytale come to life. Every hundred years a creature would demand a child with the family, to renew both the financial rewards he provided _and_ the mysterious “gifts” that had indeed helped them to prosper in the past. Fifty years ago his grandfather had had a stake in the successful family shipping line; there were tales of how previous men in charge, previous men on the family tree, just seemed to _know_ where the best investments were, how many ships to send out, what goods to bring back. But even by his grandfather’s day that talent was fading and his father, the younger son of a younger son, wanted to try his fortunes someplace new. The Nightbird had come with them—the father of the man who sat before him, Ephraim pretended, though he was the very picture of the man he remembered as a boy.

            “I just don’t see how it can be done,” he finally answered in a defeated tone. “Elizabeth isn’t the sort of girl to—well, she’s not very practical,” he tried to explain. “She wouldn’t see things—the right way.”

            “That _is_ important,” Nightbird agreed. “I would require her consent in all matters.”

            “Have you been to Turkey Ridge?” Ephraim tried, grabbing at loose ends. “I have some cousins over that way…” Nightbird looked at him sadly, as if this just weren’t good enough.

            The door to the parlor opened suddenly and Hallie came in with the tea tray. “So sorry, Master, but the stove wouldn’t—“ She looked up, surprised to see only two people in the room.

            “Bring it over anyway,” Ephraim sighed.

            The young woman did so, pouring out the tea while casting wary glances at the visitor. He, in turn, began to watch her with increasing interest—the golden-green cast to her eyes, the quickness of her hands, the cream-and-coffee color of her skin in the glow of the fire.

            “You have another daughter,” Nightbird remarked, with some satisfaction.

            Hallie dropped the teacup she was handing him. He didn’t react, merely sat calmly while she tried to mop up the spilled liquid and porcelain shards, apologizing all the way. His white pants should have been stained but amazingly, the tea seemed to have gone for the carpet instead.

            “How do you—Er, what makes you say that?” Ephraim asked guiltily. He did not think about this fact very often and was keen that no one else, such as his wife, find out.

            “I recognize my own,” Nightbird replied simply.

            Hallie squirmed under his gaze. “So sorry, Master, can I go now? Got a lot of work—“

            “Please stay,” the man in white requested, so she kept standing there while he scrutinized her.

            “Um… so a Negro would be… fine?” Ephraim began tentatively, not sure if this was really a way out or not.

            “Yes,” Nightbird replied shortly, “but a slave would not. What is your name?”

            “Hallie, sir,” the young woman replied, staring at her shoes. “So sorry about the tea, sir—“

            “Don’t worry about that. How old are you?”

            “Twenty, sir.”

            “Do you have a sweetheart, Hallie?” Nightbird persisted.

            “No, she doesn’t,” Ephraim answered for her quickly.

            Hallie dared to glance up, just for an instant, and caught something in the strange visitor’s eyes that made her feel oddly bold. Stories of the Nightbird had been told to her by the old women in the slave quarters—but sometimes she couldn’t believe a magical figure could be worse than her daily reality. “I has a little boy, named Magnus,” she replied, on the heels of her master. She had never thought of Ephraim Corbin as her father; it wasn’t as if the relationship gained her anything, except perhaps duties in the house instead of the field.

            “Who is his father?” Nightbird asked.

            “Hector,” Hallie told him, her voice small but clear. “He was sold over Blue Water way last year.” She kept her eyes on the carpet.

            The visitor settled back in his chair and seemed to think for a moment. “Hallie, I would like to buy you and your son,” he began, “and I would like to buy Hector as well. I would set you all free, and give you money to start a new life.”

            “Why, sir?” Hallie asked. She was no fool.

            “You’ve heard my name before,” he surmised evenly. “What have you been told about the Nightbird?”

            “Oh, slave quarters are always full of tall tales, African nonsense,” Ephraim dismissed, beginning to wonder if there was still going to be anything in this for him.

            The visitor ignored him and watched Hallie expectantly. “They—they say the Nightbird wants human children,” she replied tentatively.

            “That’s true,” he answered simply, and she looked up suddenly in surprise. “I would like you to have my child, Hallie. A special child that you would raise. And I would give you money, or whatever else you needed to take care of it. You and Hector could get married, when you were free. You could settle wherever you liked. Perhaps in the city of New Orleans, where there are many free Negroes.”

            Hallie stared at him, open-mouthed, unable to process what he was saying. Ephraim took the opportunity to jump in. “Well, that’s—something,” he understated, “but I was just wondering, if they went to New Orleans—“

            “I will still support your family,” Nightbird assured him, “if you agree to the sale. For your generation and the next.” He smirked slightly. “If you would care to acknowledge Hallie as your child, and welcome her children into your society, our relationship could continue indefinitely.”

            “I don’t think so,” Ephraim answered honestly.

            “Well then, two generations shall have to suffice,” Nightbird concluded. He seemed to find this twist fascinating. “The currents have shifted in a new direction.”

            Both men stared at Hallie. “So I have your baby, and you’ll get me set free?” she questioned. She thought she could probably handle that, honestly.

            “No,” Nightbird corrected. “I will have you set free, and _then_ you can decide.”

            “But what if she says no?” Ephraim asked in sudden alarm.

            “It will not affect you,” Nightbird dismissed. Ephraim had the distinct impression his entire branch of the family was about to be set aside. “Let us discuss the terms of sale for Hallie and her child.”

            “And Old Nan,” the girl put in quickly. “She done raised me since my mama died, I can’t leave her behind.”

            “I’ll throw in that old crone for free, she’s nothing but a thorn in my side,” Ephraim snorted. “But you get out of here! Get back to work. Don’t slack off, neither.” Hallie scrambled quickly from the room, afraid to let herself think about what might be happening in the parlor—she didn’t want to get her hopes up.

            “The sale must be fully legal, but quick,” Nightbird told his host. “You will travel to Biloxi tomorrow and consult a lawyer. I will return on Thursday evening to examine the contract and, I hope, sign it. Where was Hector sold?”

            “The Murphys, over at Blue Water,” Ephraim answered. “He’ll be expensive, he’s a strapping boy.”

            “You may name your price for Hallie and her people,” Nightbird assured him, standing. “I’ll see myself out.”

            “Oh, shouldn’t we celebrate?” Ephraim countered, turning to the bottle of port on the sideboard. He was already seeing the dollar signs in his head that he would get from this sale, and the deal as a whole. “Would you like some—“ But when he turned back around, the room was empty.


End file.
